


White Hot

by LittleThingsAreInfinitelyMoreImportant



Series: My Smut69 Challenge [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Fingerfucking, I'm Going to Hell, M/M, Shameless, Smut, Sorry Not Sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-20
Updated: 2014-07-20
Packaged: 2018-02-09 16:11:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1989369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleThingsAreInfinitelyMoreImportant/pseuds/LittleThingsAreInfinitelyMoreImportant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and John read a story that piques Sherlock’s interest about prostate stimulation. John offers to show him exactly how it’s done. Basically shameless porn!</p>
            </blockquote>





	White Hot

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Smut69 challenge on LiveJournal using the prompt, fingers. The story mentioned is a wonderful story by [thirdbird](http://archiveofourown.org/users/thirdbird/pseuds/thirdbird). Give it a read. 
> 
> Please feel free to check out my Tumblr [here](http://comeatonce-ifconvenient.tumblr.com/). I am more than happy to accept any prompts and/or challenges.
> 
> None of these characters belong to me. They are the property of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and the playthings of Their Royal Malevolence's Moffat and Gatiss. I am just borrowing them. 
> 
> I do not apologise for any of this. *runs to hide in a corner*. I hope you like it.

It was one of those days. One of the days John hated. A quiet one. He’d tried to read, tried to watch daytime telly, cleaned the flat as much as he could (he still didn’t dare touch the refrigerator) and finished updating his blog. And now he was bored out of his skull.

“Bored! 

Apparently, he wasn’t the only one.

“Bored, John!”

John sighed, rolled his eyes, and looked over at the lengthy five year old sprawled out on the couch, his head leaning on one sofa arm and his feet dangling over the other one. He really was far too tall to be considered decent. In John’s opinion anyway.

“What exactly would you like me to do about it?” asked the doctor. He could almost feel Sherlock rolling his eyes behind their lids at the mundane question.

“Distract me”

It was a command, not a question, John rolled his eyes again. He knew better than to argue. Getting into an argument with Sherlock was like engaging a child that kept asking ‘why?’ over and over again.

“Tea?” asked John, standing up and heading to the kitchen.

“Really John? Tea? Predictable. I NEED A CASE!”

“I’m sorry, but I only become a crazed axe murderer on Thursdays so you’ll have to ask me again then if you want a case” replied John, switching on the kettle and getting two mugs out of the cupboard. He gave them a cursory glance to make sure they didn’t contain any suspicious fluids or body parts before dumping a teabag into each.

By the time he had made the tea, Sherlock had gone quiet. This was a bad sign. It normally meant he was retrieving some sort of weapon with which to desecrate the wall. John hoped to god it wasn’t the harpoon, he didn’t think Mrs Hudson could take it.

When he turned back to the living room, mugs in hand, he saw Sherlock was sat up with John’s laptop resting on his thighs. John rolled his eyes.

“You know you have your own laptop, right?” said John, setting a mug down in front of Sherlock and sitting next to him on the sofa.

“It’s switched off” replied Sherlock, as though that was an adequate reason for pinching John’s.

For the third time in five minutes, John rolled his eyes and picked up a newspaper that had been crumpled down the side of the sofa when Sherlock had been lying on it.

 _“Still better than the harpoon”_ he thought to himself, opening the paper and becoming lost in it. Reading a newspaper in 221B was always much more entertaining than reading one anywhere else. Sherlock was in the habit of adding his own anecdotes to photos of politicians and celebrities, scrawling his deductions next to the person they concerned. John was sure that what he knew about some senior government officials would see him into a comfortable early retirement aboard a luxury yacht had he the desire to sell such information.

Half an hour, maybe more, passed in silence. There wasn’t even a snide remark from Sherlock which was odd. Blissfully peaceful, but…odd. John intended to enjoy it.

Never before had he managed to read an entire paper uninterrupted. He even read the Business and Financial section, just because he could. Finally, he folded the paper up and slapped it down on the arm of the sofa and, finally, glanced across at his friend.

Sherlock was sat bolt upright, staring at the screen of the laptop. There was a small crease in his forehead and his eyes were screwed up somewhere between incredulity and disbelief. His mouth was hanging slightly agape, almost as if he had been about to speak and then forgotten what he was going to say.

“Sherlock?”

John leant forward slightly to get a better view of his best friends face. Sherlock didn’t move.

“Sherlock?” asked John again, this time shuffling up to sit closer to the detective and see what he had been researching for the last hour.

“Sherlock you…you googled us?” asked John in disbelief, trying his hardest not to laugh. Sherlock still said nothing.

“Look, I know the hat is bad, but the photos can’t be that appalling” laughed John, nudging Sherlock playfully with his shoulder. After another minute of silence, Sherlock finally took a deep, shuddering breath and spoke in a whisper.

“I always maintained that people were scary John…the way their minds work can be terrifying…but this…this is…” he trailed off, turning horrified eyes onto John. John was desperately trying not to laugh.

“Why…what have you found?”

John was choking back the giggles by this time, his eyes beginning to water.

“They…they write stories John” rasped Sherlock.

“What?” asked John, his interest heightening as he tugged the laptop out of Sherlock’s lap and began to scroll through the lists of results that were on the screen.

"Well I did warn you that you’d start getting fans” chuckled John. What he was looking at appeared to be some kind of forum or website with a list of titles. Underneath the titles were mostly Sherlock’s name with mostly his next to it, although Greg Lestrade seemed to be making an appearance as well. Underneath the names was a list of what appeared to be tags (he was a blogger, he knew this stuff) and a short summary.

“Have you read any of these yet?” asked John, looking interestedly at Sherlock.

“NO! They’re…well…inappropriate”

John was sure that Sherlock would be blushing by now if the man didn’t have such a tight grasp on his emotions.

“Inappropriate how?” asked John, still not cottoning on.

“Christ John! Even with the evidence right in front of you, you still ask the most moronic questions!”

John shot Sherlock a look that quite clearly said ‘tell me what you mean right now before I throw you out the window’.

“They’re rather…sexually explicit…pornographic I suppose you would call it”

Finally, a pink tinge flushed Sherlock’s finely tapered cheekbones. John couldn't contain himself any more, he burst into giggles, clutching his sides and collapsing against the back of the sofa. Sherlock glared at him.

“Sorry…I'm sorry Sherlock…I just…you…” Choked John, wiping his eyes.

“It honestly can't be that bad! You are such a drama queen!”

“I am not!!!”

“You are! I warned you when you started to solve high profile cases that you'd get fans of some sort. You had to be prepared for this!”

"I was prepared for people to be interested in my _work_! Not this” replied Sherlock.

"They probably aren't that awful” said John. He looked at the titles carefully before clicking on one called _Open._ He deliberately chose one that didn’t include him. After all, Sherlock had made him feel uncomfortable so many times. Now it was John’s turn to have some fun.

“John, must you?” whined Sherlock, leaning across in spite of himself to get a better look at the screen.

“Why not?” smirked John. His eyes scanned the summary.

_For a kinkmeme prompt: Lestrade fingerfucks Sherlock till he comes._

The story loaded and there was silence for a few minutes as John read the webpage with Sherlock leaning over his shoulder

The story was set before John himself had entered Sherlock’s life, back when Sherlock had been addicted to more than just solving crimes and puzzles. From what John could gather, while he was trying to ignore the sound of blood and arousal thrumming in his ears, the fictional Lestrade had managed to find a rather unique way of helping the fictional Sherlock through his come-downs and withdrawals.

John shifted himself slightly as his trousers suddenly felt a little too tight when he finished the story. He was suddenly acutely aware of Sherlock leaning over his shoulder, reading the story along with him, his breath ghosting over John’s neck. John was suddenly torn between standing up and running out of the room and grabbing the mad genius, throwing him down and snogging him breathless.

He decided for neither. He’d started reading this, now he was going to have to stay for the consequences or Sherlock would never let him live it down. He threw a sidelong glance at his flatmate, who was still reading, his eyes wide and the blush from earlier still heating his razor sharp cheeks. Even scarier though, was Sherlock’s half-hidden look of keen inquisitiveness.

“Well…um…I see…see what you mean” said John finally, hating his voice for betraying him. Sherlock turned to look at him. Cue the humiliating deductions.

“I did tell you”

“I know. But it’s just fantasy Sherlock, you know that right. I mean, we know people talk about us in that way but…it’s just a bunch of fans with overactive imaginations”

Who was he trying to convince more, himself, or Sherlock?

“That’s not actually…possible though…it is?” asked Sherlock, turning back to look at the screen.

“What’s not?”

“Well…that…the whole…you know…”

Sherlock’s voice trailed off, the blush creeping into his cheeks once again. John couldn’t help but find it adorable. No matter how confident and god-damn insufferable he was when he was solving his puzzles, Sherlock still couldn’t talk about the subject of sex without turning into a fourteen year old girl.

“No Sherlock, I don’t know. As you keep pointing out, I see but I do not observe. You’ll have to be more specific”

John knew he might regret this.

“Achieving orgasm though prostate stimulation alone” said Sherlock, looking away from John to the fireplace in front of them.

Time to use what John called his Doctor voice.

“Well, actually Sherlock, it is. It’s incredibly difficult to do, but it can be done”

“Has it ever happened to you?”

Oh great, Sherlock was in one of his asking-awkward-questions-like-they-were-normal moods. John knew that he’d have to answer them sooner or later so it was best to get it out of the way.

“Yes”

“Have you ever done it to anyone?”

“Yes”

“Really. Interesting…what’s it like?”

With this question, Sherlock moved even closer towards John, pressing his chest against the doctor’s arm. John could swear he could feel Sherlock’s heart pounding away against his shoulder.

“It’s supposed to be the best orgasm a man can have” replied John, faintly.

“Yes but, what did it feel like for you? I want your personal opinion” said Sherlock. John turned his head and raised his blue eyes to meet Sherlock’s multi-tonal ones.

“Intense, overwhelming, breathtaking. I felt like I’d been turned inside out” replied John, unable to look away from Sherlock now, feeling the heat growing between them. This conversation wasn’t doing anything to make the fullness in his trousers go away. Sherlock was smirking at him now. The bastard knew the effect all this was having on John.

“What about you? Have you ever had…one?” asked John.

“As you know, my sexual history is sporadic at best. And…one might say…very _vanilla_ ”

“Want me to show you?” asked John, a wicked grin settling across his lips. Sherlock’s eyes flashed with desire and surprise.

He froze as John’s hand settled on thigh, rubbing gently in small circles. His breath caught in his throat as John pressed in close to him, nudging him with his shoulder. He forced himself to look back at John, almost going cross-eyed now that the doctor’s face was so close.

“I’d like that” whispered the detective, his breath ghosting over John’s lips. John moved forwards, closing the small gap between their lips and kissing Sherlock hard.

With a thud, the laptop slipped from John’s legs and onto the floor as he opened his mouth to nip at Sherlock’s lower lip, teasing his mouth open. He surged forwards, using his body to force Sherlock back down onto the sofa so that John could crawl on top of him.

Sherlock keened softly into John’s mouth as John’s tongue tangled with his own. He lifted one leg and threw it around John’s waist, grinding his erection into John’s hip. John gasped and shifted his weight to settle more comfortably between Sherlock’s thighs, rocking his hips back against Sherlock’s with a tiny sound of satisfaction.

He swept his hands up under the hem of Sherlock’s too-tight shirt, pushing it up to his armpits and lowering his mouth to the expanse of pale skin exposed to him. He nipped and sucked, worrying the skin just below the detective’s collarbone until it was purple and bruised. He moved his mouth down, capturing a pink nipple in his mouth and biting down gently. Sherlock’s body tensed beneath him and he threw back his head against at arm of the sofa.

“Jesus John!”

John smirked against Sherlock’s hardened flesh and sat up, straddling himself over Sherlock’s thighs.

“This needs to come off” he husked, tugging at Sherlock’s shirt. Sherlock hesitated for a minute before slowly lifting his hands and smoothing his shirt down and beginning to unbutton it. He raised his torso slightly and John helped him work his shirt down off his shoulders and deposit it on the floor. The doctor allowed his fingers to brush over the mark he’d left on Sherlock’s skin and Sherlock shuddered.

John leaned back and smirked at the man underneath him, raising his hands to his own shirt buttons and undoing them. Sherlock’s eyes drank in every inch of newly exposed flesh as John slid his shirt off and dumped it on the floor next to him. John could feel Sherlock’s erection pressing insistently into his arse and rocked back, drawing a gasp from the other man at the sensation.

“Someone a bit eager?” smirked John, rocking his hips again and watching Sherlock’s eyes flutter closed. John hopped off Sherlock and stood up. Sherlock opened his eyes with a whine and looked at John.

“Strip. I’ll be back in a minute” commanded John, hurrying out of the door and towards his bedroom. He took the stairs two at a time and yanked the bottom drawer of the wardrobe open, rummaging around until he came across a small tube of lube. Grabbing it, he hurried back towards the sitting room and stopped dead.

Sherlock was stretched out on the sofa completely naked, one arm was over his eyes and the other was dangling off the edge of the sofa. His cock, rock-hard, leaking and an angry red colour, was jutting straight out from his body.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful” breathed John, drinking in the sight before him. He went to kneel at the side of the couch and, setting aside the lube for a moment, gently wrapped his hand around Sherlock’s erection. Sherlock moaned and bucked his hips upwards, pushing himself through John’s fist. John let him have a few pleasurable thrusts before pulling his hand away, making Sherlock keen in frustration.

“For fucks sake John!”

This was the part John loved, the part where Sherlock’s vice-like self-control began to unravel giving way to the raw, instinctive and animalistic part of his brain. John leaned in and breathed over Sherlock’s ear.

“Turn onto your side” he whispered, nipping at Sherlock’s earlobe. Sherlock turned, John manoeuvring him until he was on his side, facing the back of the sofa, with his knees drawn up to his chest. Picking up the lube, John slotted in behind Sherlock, balancing on the edge of the sofa and snaking one arm under the detective to wrap around his chest. He ran his other hand down to cup Sherlock’s arse, squeezing and kneading the firm flesh. Sherlock moaned and pushed himself back against John, catching the doctor’s still-clothed erection and making him gasp.

With skilled fingers, John one-handed, flicked the cap of the lube. He felt Sherlock shiver at the sound and dropped a kiss to his shoulder. John squeezed a large amount of the slippery liquid onto his hand and massaged it into his fingers.

 "Okay?” he asked Sherlock, running one slicked up finger over the tight ring of muscle. Sherlock’s body quivered and he nodded, breathing heavily. John massaged the pad of his index finger over Sherlock’s hole, rubbing small circles that made Sherlock tremble and whimper before finally, carefully, dipping one fingertip inside and sliding into Sherlock up to the second knuckle.

Sherlock shouted out, clenching invitingly around John’s finger. The doctor’s cock twitched with the thought of how that tight heat would feel around him. But that wasn’t the point of this exercise.

Slowly, he began to thrust his finger in and out, making Sherlock writhe back against him. John smiled to himself and nipped at the sensitive skin of the detective’s neck.

“Fuck! Please, John…please”

Taking pity on him, John pressed a second finger into Sherlock, teasingly brushing the man’s prostate but nowhere near enough to create any sort of satisfaction. Sherlock growled and pushed his hips back into John’s hand. John chuckled.

“You’re not gonna know what’s hit you” promised John, in a husky whisper.

“I’m going to make you feel so fucking good!”

John picked up the pace, teasingly thrusting his fingers in and out. Sherlock bucked and whimpered, breathing hard, desperate for any kind of friction against his cock. John’s arm tightened around his chest, holding him still.

“Ah, ah, ah, that’s not the point of this exercise now is it Sherlock” breathed John.

“John…please…please John!” sobbed Sherlock, thrusting himself back against John’s body, almost pushing the doctor off the sofa. John smirked and finally crooked his fingers.

Sherlock’s entire body jumped and the detective actually screamed as the tips of John’s fingers jabbed his prostate. John smiled and repeated the movement, thrusting his fingers against Sherlock’s prostate over and over again, making Sherlock shout with every touch.

John changed his movements, rubbing his fingers in small circles over the sensitive gland. Sherlock’s entire body was tense and straining. John alternated between gently tapping and deeply massaging that spot inside Sherlock.

“You need to relax Sherlock, stop fighting it” he crooned in Sherlock’s ear, licking the shell of it teasingly. He moved his fingers faster, working Sherlock’s prostate harder and harder. Sherlock whined, little high-pitched noises over and over again. The pleasure was so intense it almost hurt and he was so, so close. His feet were white-hot, toes curling in pleasure. He was so undone he knew _what_ he needed but had no idea what he actually wanted. He threw his head back against John’s shoulder as the doctor moved him fingers even faster.

“Fuck John, yes…like that…just there…I…uh…don’t even know…anymore…”

John smirked, withdrew and thrust his fingers in one last time, and that was it.

The stars exploded in Sherlock’s eyes. There was nothing but whiteness and supernovas and roaring blood as the detective came, covering the back of the sofa. He knew he was screaming himself hoarse but for once he didn’t care. The white-hot pleasure exploded out of him as he shouted and writhed through the most amazing, spectacular orgasm he’d ever had in his entire life. If he was dead, he didn’t care as John’s fingers worked him through every twitch and shudder before withdrawing.

Sherlock may have lost consciousness. He wasn’t quite sure. But he regained his wits in time to feel Johns fist pumping against his back, hear the doctor’s short, coarse breathing, the moan and the warm wetness as he quickly brought himself off.

They lay there panting. Every brush of John’s hand against Sherlock’s side felt like fire as John soothed him and brought him back down to earth. He gently rolled the trembling detective onto his back and propped himself up on an elbow.

“Sherlock? Are you still with me?”

“Fuck…John…I’m dead”

“No you aren’t. I’m a doctor. I know these things” chuckled John. He nudged Sherlock gently and the genius’s eyes fluttered open.

“How was that?” asked John.

“I don’t think I can describe it” muttered Sherlock.

“Seriously? The great Sherlock Holmes, lost for words?”

Sherlock scowled as best he could given his exhausted state, only managing a faint sort of grimace. John laughed and settled his head on Sherlock’s chest.

“I always thought that people who described sex as ‘mind-blowing’ or ‘earth-shattering’ were just stroking their partners egos. But now…I get it” said Sherlock.

“Coming from you, I’ll take that as a compliment” giggled John. Sherlock rolled his eyes sluggishly. He was exhausted.

“Take it however you want, as long as I can go to sleep”


End file.
